The Hunger Games: Generation X
by Tricia Loves Chanyeol
Summary: Every year, the mutants of Panem are forced to send their children to the Hunger Games. The Capitol tells them it is payment for their uprising, but everyone knows that it's so much worse than that. *Rated T for violence and gore.*
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: I know I'm not the first to invent this crossover, but I'm not trying to copy anyone. After all, Marvel did it first in Ultimate Spiderman #91-4!**_

 _ **No previous Marvel knowledge needed!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: Many of the names and powers used in this story are based on Marvel Comics, but are not intended to represent the canon characters, and are only references to the original work. I do not own Marvel, or the Hunger Games.**_

 _THE HUNGER GAMES: GENERATION X_

 _Chapter One_

My hands are stuffed deep into my pockets as I trudge through the rain toward the town square. The chill of winter still clings to the April air, and a cold breeze bites through my jacket.

Of course, the bad weather only fuels the growing dread everyone feels on Reaping day. Families huddle together under umbrellas, stealing the last precious moments together before they reach the square. Tears stain the face of the girl hiding behind the dumpsters, terrified of going in for the first time. Cameras are perched on every rooftop, and peacekeepers line the streets.

I glare at them mutinously, knowing they can't do anything about it today, and I'm gratified to feel them flinch under my gaze. These peacekeepers were sent from the Capitol, so most of them have never been this close to a mutant before in their life. And, as usual, they're afraid. _Well, good._

I'm shivering by the time I reach the square to sign in. I feel a prick in my finger, and then I'm herded into a roped-off area with other girls my age. Even now, the peacekeepers are keeping their distance.

No-one speaks. There's nothing for us to say. We can only wait in the freezing rain for what feels like hours, until the mayor finally steps onto the stage and his voice tones in over the loud-speakers.

He tells the history of Panem, the country that is now all that remains of what was once called North America. He tells about the race of mutants that came out of humanity, and about Magnus, the most powerful of them all, who rose up against the humans and declared that his people should be worshipped as gods. Those were the Dark Days. Terrible war raged across the land, and although it seemed an easy victory for mutantkind, the humans overpowered them with their genetically engineered mutts and advanced weaponry. Magnus was killed, and the mutants surrendered. But that was not enough for the humans.

They built a strong Capitol for themselves, and banished all mutants to the surrounding districts, to work like slaves and provide for the humans in the Capitol. "Peacekeepers" were sent to make sure that no mutant ever arose with the power to spark another war, and, to make sure that the mutant population never got out of hand again, the Capitol created the Hunger Games.

The rules of the Hunger Games are simple. In punishment for their uprising, each of the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy, called tributes. The twenty-four tributes are imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena, and over a period of several weeks, they must fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins.

This "Victor" receives a life of ease back home, and their district is showered with prizes, largely consisting of food. They are even treated like a celebrity in the Capitol. But everyone knows that the humans will never really love us. No matter what we do. No matter what games we play. They will always hate mutants.

My attention returns to the Reaping when the mayor introduces District Eight's escort, Nikia Aether.

"Happy Hunger Games," her voice echoes over the loud-speakers, ghostly as ever. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

She doesn't waste any time giving a speech, and turns directly to the glass bowls that hold the names of every eligible child in the district. One for the boys, and one for the girls.

As usual, she reaches into the boys' first. She digs her hand deep into the bowl, and pulls out one slip of paper. The crowd draws in a collective breath as she crosses back to the podium, smooths the slip of paper, and reads in a cold, clear voice: "Warren Worthington."

Every head turns to watch a tall, golden-haired boy make his way to the stage. The creamy wings that rise from his back are so large that they nearly drag on the ground behind him.

 _Warren Worthington. I know him._ We've never actually spoken, but we're in the same year at school. He's nice. And now he's standing next to Nikia Aether like an angel sentenced to death.

Something about that image makes me so angry that I want to cry - and I almost do - but not before Nikia draws another slip of paper and I hear my name booming over the loud-speakers.

"Valeria Franklin."

I blink. Everyone's staring at me. One of the girls next to me gasps. But none of it connects in my mind.

"Valeria?" repeats Nikia, scanning the crowd for me. Someone shoves me forward, and I stumble out onto the path. I can feel the eyes of everyone in the square looking at me. And it's not just them. Everyone in Panem is watching me right now.

Shakily, I step forward, and steeling my nerve, I climb the steps up to the stage.

Nikia Aether's voice is startlingly close to me as she announces, "District Eight, your tributes!"

Warren Worthington extends his hand to me, and we shake. Then a group of peacekeepers marches us through the front door of the Justice Building, and I'm conducted to a room and left alone.

I sit down on a cushioned sofa, and let the events of the past five minutes wash over me.

For at least twenty seconds, it's all I can do to keep from running out the door. Once that passes, I collapse onto the velvet pillows and will myself into oblivion.

I don't know how much later, but eventually a peacekeeper wakes me, and I am taken through the back door to a waiting car.

I've never been in a car before, but there's no time to enjoy it because we're at the station in a couple of minutes.

As I get out, I catch sight of my own face on the big screen above the railway. It's live coverage of my arrival, and besides looking a little bedraggled from standing out in the rain, I don't actually look too bad.

Warren hasn't been crying, but there is so much emotion in his eyes that I'm sure some of the Capitol women are. He looks so desperate, so lost. For a moment, I can't help but feel sorry for him. But then I remember that it's probably just part of his strategy, and I try to forget about it.

We are forced to stand in the doorway of the train for several minutes while reporters crowd around us, and their insect-like cameras capture every detail of our faces.

When we're finally allowed inside, the doors close automatically behind us, and the train begins to move at once.

We glance at each other, unsure of what to do now. This is a part of the process that we never see at home, and I have no idea what comes next.

That is, until Nikia Aether emerges from a doorway on the other side of the car. She shows us to our rooms immediately, and tells us we can do whatever we like until dinner's ready.

I peel off my wet clothes as soon as I am alone, and rummage through the huge dresser until I find something that looks comfortable.

Once I've dressed in a soft white blouse and black pants, I set to untangling my mess of red curls. It takes a while, but eventually I get it all brushed out. And now I'm faced with the thoughts I've been pushing away since I left the Justice Building.

I sink down onto my thick mattress and draw my knees up to my chin. Tears threaten to form in my eyes, but I resolve against that, for now.

At least I'm not leaving a family behind, like Warren is. My parents died when I was a kid, and I never had any brothers or sisters. I guess that turned out to be a good thing in the end.

But I did have friends. A future. I might have even gotten married, someday. But now I'll never know, because the Capitol hates mutants, and they're going to kill me just for being one. Actually, they're going to make other mutants do it for them. Which is so much worse.


	2. Chapter 2

I've been alone in my room for nearly an hour when Nikia Aether comes to collect me for dinner.

I smooth my blouse while we walk, suddenly very self-conscious. This is my only chance to make a good first impression on the mentors, and in the arena, their help might mean the difference between life and death.

Nikia leads me through the narrow corridor into a large dining room with polished paneled walls and a huge table filled with all the food I could ever imagine. Warren is already sitting at the table, and seated next to him are our mentors, Emma Frost and Logan Howlett.

Emma is an imposing figure, dressed in a revealing white corset, with her bleach blonde hair framing her perfect features. She won a little over fifteen years ago. I was too young to remember it, but people say she told the other tributes to kill themselves, and the games were over in fifteen minutes.

Then there's Logan. He must be at least a hundred years old, but he doesn't look a day over thirty. Apparently he has a healing factor that keeps him from aging, as well as making him almost impossible to kill. He's shorter than Warren, but all hard muscle, with three retractable claws in each fist.

I'm not sure who's more intimidating as I slide into a seat across from them. A plate of meat and potatoes is immediately placed before me, and I suddenly realize how hungry I am.

Nobody speaks for at least fifteen minutes while we all dig in to the meal, and by the time desert comes, everyone is looking more relaxed. Even Warren appears to be enjoying himself a little.

Logan is the first to speak once the dinner dishes have been cleared away and we're left with our slices of cake and mugs of warm milk. Surprisingly enough, his words are directed at me.

"So, what's your thing, kid?"

I open my mouth to reply, but I'm not really sure what to say. Biting my lip, I look around for something to use.

My eyes rest on the fork next to my plate, and I keep my gaze trained carefully on it. It lifts off of the tablecloth and hangs suspended in the air above the dishes.

Warren's eyebrows rise a little, and Logan seems to take an interest.

"How much can you move?" he asks. "Could you stop this train?"

"At two hundred miles an hour?" I shake my head and the fork drops back onto the table. "Not a chance. I could probably knock this table over though." Of course, the whole table looks like it's made of solid marble, so that's a bigger boast than it sounds.

"What's your range like?" he asks. I can already see his gears turning, working out possible strategies.

"I'm not really sure. A few yards, maybe?"

Logan is about to ask another question, but Emma interrupts him. "We can continue this discussion later. The reapings will be airing soon, and you two should know your competition before we reach the Capitol."

I don't like the commanding tone of her voice, but I have to admit that she's right. I shovel in the last few bites of my cake before getting up to follow the others into another compartment of the train.

A huge screen fills most of one wall, and all the furniture in the room has been turned to face it.

I settle into a fluffy armchair with my hands wrapped around a steaming mug of warm milk, and wait for Caesar Flickerman to finish his introduction to the reapings.

I've always watched the recaps at home, on the dingy little screen we have in the factory. I can't usually hear it over the noise of the looms, but today Caesar's voice is crystal clear on the Capitol's speakers.

After a few minutes, the national anthem plays, and then we're looking at what must be District One's Justice Building. Everything is bright and showy, but other than that the whole ceremony is exactly the same as ours. Only when they ask for volunteers, two strong career tributes step up to meet the challenge.

One by one, the reapings go by.

There's a flaming boy from District 1, who is far too eager to volunteer.

A haunting District 3 girl who has no eyes.

A boy from 4 who leaves a trail of ice behind him on his way to the stage.

A sly-looking girl from District 5, with two bony devil's horns protruding from her skull.

There's even a boy from District 6 who teleports onto the stage in an explosion of blue light.

Then Warren's name is called, and I watch him mount the stairs again with his beautiful wings rising up behind him. I sneak a glance to the left, where he is watching the screen from a sofa. His wings are tucked up behind him like a feathery cape, trailing down to the floor.

I'm next on the screen, and I'm surprised to see that I don't look half as confused as I felt. I actually look like I know what I'm doing, which is a huge relief.

Then there's an incredibly fast boy from District 10.

A District 11 girl who looks more like a tree than a person.

And a young boy from District 12 whose fingers spark with electricity.

Then the anthem plays again, and the program ends. Warren and I glance at each other, and Emma stands up from her chair.

"You two should get some sleep," she says, motioning in the general direction of our rooms. "We will arrive in the Capitol just after dawn, and you'll be busy all day preparing for the opening ceremonies."

"She's right," says Logan, still lounging on the couch. "We can start talking strategy then."

I nod in obedience, and stand up from my comfortable armchair, setting my mug down on a coffee table. I say goodnight and then slip out the door into a hall.

I'm almost to my own room when I hear Warren's soft voice behind me.

"What did you think?"

I turn around to look at him, wrapping my arms around my waist. "I think we'd better watch out. Those careers sure looked like they knew what they were doing, and they're not the only threat by far."

Warren nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, but they have their strength in numbers. Everyone else is almost guaranteed to be a loner."

I shrug. "Easier to hide that way, right?"

"Until the Capitol decides to throw a fireball at you, or release a poisonous gas. As soon as the action dies down, they'll hole you out."

"I guess that's true. But then you run away. Find somewhere else to make camp."

"What if you run into the other tributes? That's how it always happens. You run into them, or you get dangerously close. And then what?"

"I don't know!" My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to, and I look away, embarrassed. I don't know what Warren is driving at here, but it's starting to make me uncomfortable. I sigh. "The games are never fair, Warren. We just have to accept that."

I see something flash across his expression, but it disappears again so quickly that I barely have time to notice it. "Yeah," he says, dropping his gaze. When he looks up again, he's turning to leave. "Goodnight, Valeria."

"Night," I murmur, watching him walk away. I wait until he's in his own room before I open the door to mine. Stepping inside, I shut and lock it behind me.

Then I toss my clothes on the floor and crawl into bed. I try to go to sleep, but something keeps bugging me. Something in the back of my mind that I can't quite put my finger on.

It's almost an hour later when I finally do drift off, but even then my dreams are filled with confusion and a nagging feeling that I'm missing something.

What could he have possibly said that's bothering me so much?


End file.
